Comfort Words
by lilien passe
Summary: Seasons change, bringing words of comfort, words of hurt. A dreaded love-triangle fic that follows the relationships of Japan, England, and America from pre to post World War II. Now complete.
1. Part One: For Spring

-Author's Notes-

I tried really hard not to write this. But it was keeping me up at night. Metaphorically speaking. I'm actually quite a heavy sleeper.

Mega bonus points for the first person to identify the work and the author that the title and chapter titles are taken from.

Warnings: Unrequited love. Enough angst to completely sap any witty 'enough angst to' phrases I could've come up with. Possible mention of some rather sensitive political and social issues. Boys mackin' with other boys. The dreaded love triangle from which nothing is safe. (Al x Arthur x Kiku x Al).

Disclaimer: I shouldn't even have to say it.

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Comfort Words

_Part 1: For Spring_

_-For Spring, it is the Dawn-_

"Kiku!"

Arthur's voice rang out over the carefully manicured gardens, startling a few lone robins perched in the branches of a persimmon tree. Kiku glanced up from his desk just in time to see the British man come bursting through his study door.

"Kiku, did you see this?" Arthur brandished a newspaper, a roguish grin on his face.

Kiku looked closely at the paper, slowly reading the letters that until a few years ago had been foreign to him.

"'Gallant Little Japan Bloodies the Russian Bear.'" Kiku blinked, and took a step back from the paper, his brows knit in slight confusion. "What does this mean, exactly?"

"It means you won!" Arthur said exuberantly. "It means you beat one of the greatest European powers there is! Ivan won't recover from this for years!" The blonde's laugh turned a little maniacal as he gloated, waving the paper triumphantly aloft.

Kiku just gave a small, fond smile before turning back to his desk with an air of indifferent modesty. "It was nothing, really. I'm just relieved the conflict did not drag on any longer than it did."

Arthur sighed and shook his head in mock exasperation. "There you go again with that fake modesty. Honestly, Kiku, it's enough to drive a man insane."

"I was not putting on airs of modesty, England-san," said Kiku primly, running his thumb along the edge of an envelope to make a neat and precise crease. "I was merely trying to be polite."

Arthur did all but throw up his hand in exasperation. "And how many times do I have to tell you to drop the whole 'England-san' bit? Bloody hell, Kiku, you stayed my house for more that two years! I should think that would entitle me to at least a bit of familiarity."

Kiku's cheeks flushed slightly before he coughed and stood, his chair scraping behind him. "Yes. Well. I am sorry. It is hard to break a habit when it has been engrained into one's very being for centuries."

Arthur folded the newspaper under his arm as he followed the Japanese man onto the veranda, sitting down with his back against a pillar and stretching out his legs in front of him. "It's alright," Arthur said, sighing softly, "I didn't mean to _scold_ you for Christ's sake. It's just…" he shot the older nation a glance out of the corner of his eye. Kiku was looking at him with a slightly amused look on his face, although it was painfully obvious that the shorter man was doing his best to school his features into a pointedly neutral expression. "What so funny?" Arthur asked, raising one eyebrow.

"I was just thinking," Kiku said with more than a hint of restrained mirth in his voice, "Just how very similar the two of you are."

Arthur blinked. "I beg your pardon?"

Kiku stood and retreated back into his study for a moment, emerging a few moments later with a small book. He flipped it open to the first page before handing the small volume over to the English man. Arthur took the book with a bemused expression on his face, and looked down at the front page. There was a photograph, freshly developed, glued firmly to one side of the page. In it, Kiku was smiling his normal refined and dignified smile, dressed in a Western suit, with a top hat tucked under his arm. But next to him was a man so changed, Arthur barely recognized him.

"Is… is that…?" The British man peered closer at the photograph.

"Yes," Kiku nodded, smiling slightly. "That would be America-san."

"Wh-when did you…?"

"He invited me over to his house," Kiku said, reaching out to gently wrench the photo album out of Arthur's hands before the blonde man inadvertently tore the thing in two. "Apparently he just wanted to 'show off' his new factories. But honestly, Arthur-san," Kiku said, looking down at the picture affectionately and cautiously running his fingers along the outside edge of the photo, "You two are so alike…"

"We're nothing alike," snapped Arthur, folding his arms across his chest and scowling. "I haven't even seen the brat in close to a hundred years."

Kiku's eyes widened slightly, before he schooled his face into its normal calm expression. "A 'brat', you call him." Kiku gave a small, quiet laugh, "Well, that may be true enough."

The two sat in silence for a few moments, Kiku flipping slowly through the rest of the album, Arthur's face growing darker and darker at each small smile that clandestinely graced the Japanese man's features.

"If you're wondering how he is," Kiku spoke suddenly, tactfully closing the album when he saw Arthur's eyes flicker towards it, "He's doing wonderfully. He apparently had a bit of a rough spot a while back with some civil war strife, but he seems to have recovered nicely." His dark eyes grew slightly wistful, a longing smile blossoming across his face as he stared at the small portrait. "He is indeed… a most resilient young man."

"That's… good," Arthur replied stiffly, obviously reluctant to be an active participant in the conversation.

Kiku set the book down gently before turning to face Arthur again. "He inquired as to your well-being."

Arthur made no visible sign that he'd even heard the other man, save for a slight clenching of his jaw and a narrowing of his eyes.

Kiku studied the other man's face closely, before standing and holding out his hand to help the younger man to his feet. Arthur hesitated before reaching out and grasping the offered hand, letting himself be hoisted to his feet. Kiku graced him with a slight smile, "I did not mean to bring up such an obviously sensitive subject. I promise I will not mention it again."

Arthur flushed slightly at the shorter man's sincere expression before giving a slight cough and returning the smile. "That's alright. It just… caught me off guard, is all. But anyway," Arthur continued on hurriedly, "What are all these trees? They look almost like snow."

"You like them?" Kiku asked, slipping on a pair of sandals and stepping off the veranda into the garden to stand next to one of the flowering trees. Arthur followed him and reached up to gently touch one of the delicate blossoms. "Very much so," the blonde man breathed, letting go of the branch and taking a step back to view the tree in its entirety. "What do you call them?"

"They are called _sakura_. I believe in English you would call them a "cherry blossom", although they bear little relation to the fruit."

"_Sakura_," said Arthur, his lips quirking up in a small smile at the strange word. "Do they mean anything?"

"All manner of things," said Kiku, stretching up to pluck one of the tiny flowers from a branch. "They are a source of inspiration to my people, as well as being almost a symbol of myself."

Arthur turned to the younger man, an inquisitive frown on his face, "Yourself?"

"Yes," Kiku said slowly, letting the petals of the flower float out of his palm, borne on the soft spring wind. "Although they bloom so beautifully, they disappear with the advent of the first rains. The very transient nature of their existence cannot be denied. Yet every year the blossoms come forth again, ever repeating their cycle. But for me, I can never forget that their impermanent beauty will soon fade away, fated to be trodden into the ground by so many unobservant footsteps." Kiku's smile turned wistful, "Much like our existence itself."

Arthur slowly reached out to enclose Kiku's aristocratic hand in his own rough one, his eyes firmly fixed on the other man's face. Kiku started, staring up at the British man, but did not back away. Arthur gave a slightly sad smile, "You're quite the poet, Kiku."

The Japanese man laughed lightly, giving Arthur's hand a careful pat before gently pulling away. "I've had centuries of practice, Arthur-san. So much so that I've almost become a cliché myself."

Arthur gave a tight laugh, quickly shoving his hands in his pockets. "Well, at least they're pretty to look at," he muttered, "For now, anyway."

Kiku's eyes wrinkled in amusement. "Have you ever participated in _hana-mi_, Arthur-san?" When the younger nation simply stared back at him with a bemused look on his face, Kiku continued. "It is a tradition of sorts; to celebrate the dawn of spring. We gather together with those we care about to view the blossoms and drink - to reminisce and revel in the time we are living." He gave Arthur a quick glance, "I was wondering if this year you wouldn't mind joining me. Of course, if you are busy, I understand."

"N-no!" Arthur said, hurrying forward to catch up with the older man who had begun wandering back to the house. "I'd love to! The last time I went drinking was… decidedly unpleasant."

Kiku laughed lightly, stepping up onto the veranda and turning to offer the British man a hand up. "Well then," he said, his brown eyes shining with suppressed delight, "We shall have to remedy that."

The wind rustled through the trees, sending a few translucent pink petals aloft to spiral up towards the lavender tinted clouds, tinged with the light of early dawn.

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End Notes:

Reviews are salivated over. I've got a good idea of where I'm going to go with this, but it's always nice to hear input.


	2. Part Two: For Summer

-Author's Notes-

Please see Part 1 for warnings and disclaimer. For some cultural notes, please look to the end.

*ducks and covers from all the Arthur/Kiku fans*

I-I've never been so scared…

I must've written this thing a bajillion times and I still don't really like it. One example of how I expressed my frustration was by writing 'TRY AGAIN MOTHERFUCKER' all over the first draft.

So… enjoy?

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Comfort Words

_Part 2: For Summer_

_-For Summer, it is the Night-_

Warm lanterns spilled crimson colored light along the walkway, making the densely crowded streets flush with a faint rosy hue. The clattering of wooden sandals mingled in the humid air with the excited voices of the crowd, loud cries of "_Irasshaimase, irasshaimase!"_ piercing through the otherwise steady hum. Kiku stood against a solid granite pillar, letting the crowd wash around him, his dark eyes scanning the teeming sea of his people. He caught a flash of blonde, and he stood up straight, taking his hands out from inside his sleeves. He reached up one hand to wave in the air, flagging the blonde man down.

The other man spotted him, and waved back, jogging leisurely over to where Kiku stood. The Japanese man smiled as the tall man drew closer, feeling his heart inexplicably begin to race inside his chest.

"I am glad you were able to see me surrounded by this crowd," he said, looking up at the other man. "I was afraid of where you would have ended up should we have missed each other."

Alfred laughed, rubbing the back of his neck in a familiar gesture. "Wasn't exactly easy. Must've grabbed fifteen other guys thinkin' they were you. Probably scared them to death and back."

Kiku's eyes crinkled in amusement. Now that he was standing next to the tall blonde, the crowd had finally started to take notice of them. Curious whispers snaked through the crowd as inquisitive faces peered surreptitiously at the pair from all sides. Alfred seemed oblivious to the stares, his sharp blue eyes looking all around him at the festival sights, his grin growing even wider.

"When you said you wanted me to come for a festival, I had no idea what you meant. Thought you were talkin' about a World's Fair kinda thing- like when you came to my house and set up those buildings on that island a coupla years back," Alfred said, starting to walk along the edges of the crowded streets.

Kiku took a few quick steps to catch up, falling in line beside the taller man. "No, I am afraid this is not as wondrous an affair," he said humbly, his wooden sandals clacking on the uneven stone beneath his feet. "This is merely a festival we used to hold every year in times now past. This is the first year we have been allowed to celebrate it since the collapse of my previous boss."

"Oh?" said Alfred, pausing for a moment to watch a vendor flip what looked like small balls of dough with lightning-fast precision. "What exactly are we celebratin'?"

Kiku smiled wistfully, "I believe you would call it a 'fairy tale'."

"A fairy tale? Like Cinderella?"

"I-I am not familiar with that story," admitted Kiku, slightly abashed at his own ignorance. "But the legend of the Tanabata Festival is an old one." Kiku tugged on the taller man's sleeve, pulling him aside so the crowd would not trample them. The Japanese man pointed up at the sky, "They are rather faint, but can you see them? The two bright stars drifting over there?"

Alfred squinted. "I think so."

Kiku realized he was still gripping the American's sleeve, and let go quickly, as though scalded by the touch. His voice wavered slightly as he spoke. "Those… two stars are the Weaver, Orihime and her lover, the Herder." Kiku felt the American shift slightly, turning his gaze away from the heavens to rest on the Japanese man. Kiku took a shallow breath to steady himself before continuing. "The Weaving Princess Orihime was sent to this realm by her father, the Sky King, and it was here that she met him. Against the laws that should have held them apart, the two fell deeply in love, casting aside all that had bound them to their proper places. The Sky King grew furious at this, and as punishment, separated the two lovers, drawing the river of the Milky Way as an impassible barrier between them. Since that time, it is only on the seventh day of the seventh month that the two lovers can meet again, when they draw close to the banks of the heavenly river to cross on a bridge made of magpie's wings."

The crowd continued to stream steadily past the mismatched pair, their muted voices blending with the drone of the cicadas nestled in the nearby trees. Kiku turned his head slightly to look at the other man. Alfred was once again staring up at the sky, the cheerful expression wiped from his face, eyes vacant and deprived of their usual fire. Kiku worried slightly at his bottom lip before speaking hesitantly. "A-America-san?"

Alfred blinked, starting out of his reverie. He shook his head slightly and turned to face Kiku with an uncharacteristically shaky grin on his face. "A-Ah. Sorry 'bout that. Just… spaced out or somethin', I guess."

Kiku nodded slowly, forcing his hands to stop anxiously twisting themselves in the light cloth of his yukata. He longed to ask the American to explain himself, to overstep that carefully constructed boundary between the two of them and force the other man to actually look, look at him. But to do so would be to lose everything that had been engrained into his very being since before he cared to remember.

So instead, he slowly unclenched his hands, folding them gently to rest inside his sleeves. In a voice aloof with polite interest, he suggested casually, "Do you need to rest? Perhaps you are dehydrated."

In the blink of an eye, Alfred was back. He laughed, clapping Kiku on the shoulder with one rough hand. "Nah, I'm fine. Guess the crowd's just getting' to me is all. Never thought you could fit so many people in this tiny house of yours."

"If you would like, we could take a walk behind the temple," Kiku offered, pointing over to a path that veered off of the main walkway. "I am sure the crowds there will not be quite so aggressive."

Alfred grinned, "That'd be great. As much as I love bein' stared at, it's startin' to get a little on my nerves."

Kiku's face flushed with horrified embarrassment, "My-My apologies. My people still are not used to-"

Alfred dismissed the other man's worries with a wave of his hand, walking to veer off towards the dimly lit back path. "No worries. I remember when I first came to your house, back when you were all cooped up inside all the time." He laughed brightly, "You should'a seen your face. Like I was Death himself knockin' at your door. But man, you sure did renovate your house fast."

"It was merely a necessity in order to keep up with all of you," Kiku said, gesturing for the American to follow him to sit on the temple veranda. "Falling behind was simply not an option."

Alfred just grinned, sidling up beside the Japanese man. He let himself fall to the wooden floor with a contented sigh, propping his back against a pillar.

An amiable silence fell over the two as soft, wispy clouds drifted across the sky to partially obscure the full moon. From the temple garden came a steady drone of insect voices, the noise rising in a crescendo before fading back into the night like a receding wave. The muffled voices of the crowd barely reached the secluded back garden, isolating them from the rest of the rabble. Kiku folded his hands in his lap and allowed himself a contented sigh.

He felt Alfred's gaze shift slightly to rest on him, and he turned questioningly. "Is something wrong?"

The American blinked, and looked away quickly. "N-nah. I was just..." he hesitated, one hand reaching up to rub the back of his neck again, "I was just thinking that your house is so peaceful."

"It was not always this way," Kiku said, gazing out into the perfectly maintained temple grounds. "For years on end my house was alive with war. It was strange for me, to have a bow take the place of my brush. To see the vibrant, poetic works of my friends praised for their beauty by men who were so bathed in horror they could find solace only in reveling in the past."

The cicada droned on in the moonlit garden, the soft cry of a lonely night bird breaking the steady hum. "And you?" Alfred asked curiously, "Did you fight too?"

"I did as I was commanded," Kiku intoned, turning his face up to gaze at the vibrant moon.

Next to him Alfred chuckled softly. "Hard to picture you all decked out in armor wavin' a sword around."

Kiku's expression turned slightly bitter, "For a while the armor was all I knew, and all I could remember knowing. Years blended together, a hundred of them or more. I lost… so many. So many friends whose stories are now nothing more than picture scrolls, growing cracked with age while I myself remain unchanged and ever renewed."

The moon peeked out from behind its veil of clouds, illuminating the sand in the garden to a brilliant sheer white. "You really are a grandpa, Kiku," said Alfred with a quiet grin, his eyes relaxed and unguarded, glowing a pale blue in the soft moon light.

Kiku fought a losing battle with an abashed smile. "A-America-san. It is unkind of you to joke like that."

"Didn't say it to be mean," Alfred said, twisting to the side to lie on his back, letting his head fall softly into Kiku's lap. The Japanese man flinched slightly at the sudden contact, but relaxed after a moment, a frown distorting his refined features. "Is it customary in your house to simply fall on other people?"

"Nope!" Alfred grinned, closing his eyes contentedly. "You're just too hard to resist."

Kiku flushed, grateful that the moon had hidden itself behind a cloud, obscuring his face in shadow. "I-I… I think my English is not sufficient enough to express my distress."

Alfred let out a burst of laughter, "What, England didn't teach you the swear words yet?"

Kiku started to answer, but paused, the fragments of a solemn thought whispering to him from the recesses of his mind. "…America-san?"

"Yeah?"

"Why do you do that?"

Alfred hummed. "Do what?"

"Why… do you avoid calling Arthur-san by name?"

The drone of the insects was deafening in the silence that followed.

Tense moments dragged by before Kiku heard the younger man give a muffled sigh. Alfred rolled to his side, his cheek pressed against the Japanese man's knee.

"I imagine…" he murmured in a strained voice, almost too muted to be heard, "that it's for the same reason you call me America."

Kiku felt his chest tighten, cold wires of realization wrapping themselves around his heart with relentless precision.

"I-I think…"

The moon fell to the west to hide its scared face behind the jagged hills.

"I think I... understand."

Alfred remained silent, his eyes sliding shut as the soft night breeze played with a few loose strands of his hair. After a few minutes his breathing evened and his head lolled to the side, weighing heavy on the older man's lap.

Kiku watched him sleep, gently placing his small and worn hand to rest against Alfred's warm cheek.

_分かります__._

I understand.

The night sky lost its color to the relentless dawn, the two once bright stars drifting apart to rest once more on opposite banks of the fading Milky Way. The cicada droned on as the faint noises of the crowd dissipated with the encroaching light.

Kiku let his head fall forward, covering his eyes in weary shame with one damp sleeve.

_よく分かります、アルフレッド__._

I understand all too well, Alfred.

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End Notes:

"_Irasshaimase Irasshaimase!"_ – If you live in Japan for any amount of time, you will most likely grow tired of this vendor's cry. It literally means 'welcome', but it tends to get screeched at you all the time, especially at things like festivals.

The Tanabata Festival is awesome. Lots of cool iconography involved.

Halfway done. Now it gets depressing…


	3. Part Three: For Autumn

-Author's Notes-

Please see Part 1 for general warnings.

Disclaimer: I really, _really_ cannot emphasize this enough: I have no kind of political, social or historical agenda with this work of fiction. It's set during a very controversial period in history (just like the rest of _Hetalia_) and so I really hope people can separate the opinions and viewpoints of the fake character-countries in this work from what actually happened.

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Comfort Words

_Part 3: For Autumn_

_-For Autumn, it is the Twilight-_

The phone rang.

The shrill noise shot through Kiku's throbbing head like a bullet, making him flinch. He raised his head slightly from the surface of his paper strewn desk, looking around blearily to try and locate the sound. Finally the synapses in his brain clicked, and he fumbled awkwardly for the clamoring receiver. He picked it up gingerly and held it to his ear, wincing at the operator's cheerful voice.

"Incoming international call. May I patch it through?"

"Yes," Kiku replied automatically, some sluggish part of his brain pausing to wonder why he was receiving an international call at his home address.

The distant buzz of the operator room fell away in an instant, and for a moment there was silence on the other end of the line. Then he heard a quiet voice.

"…Kiku?"

The Japanese man's dark eyes widened, panic shredding away the last remnants of sleep. He swallowed fitfully, mouth dry as he choked out, "A-Arthur-san…"

"Kiku!" Arthur sounded like he was on the verge of a veritable breakdown. "Kiku, I've been trying to get a hold of you for days!"

"I… apologize. I have been away on business," Kiku said hesitantly, shifting through the piles of papers on his desk, desperately searching for his newest orders.

Arthur seemed to not even hear the other man as he barreled on. "Tell me it isn't true," he practically begged, "None of them believed me when I told them you would never break our alliance. I told them the bastard had to be lying just to get back at me for that trade business a few years back or something, I don't even know anymore-"

Kiku froze, his pen suspended over the retrieved commands, slow, dark drips of ink splattering onto the blurred pages. His near black eyes flickered to the sunken hearth in the floor, where already remnants of completed orders and missions yet to come burned brightly, the damning words turning into unimposing tendrils of smoke. He slowly lowered his pen onto the ruined paper, tracing the intricate characters now partially obscured by the black splotches. "Tell me, Arthur-san," he said, voice calm and level despite the pounding in his chest, "What exactly has you troubled?"

Arthur's tirade slowed, and a smile almost broke across Kiku's face in spite of everything as he practically heard the other man gather his thoughts. The British man sighed. "We met with China today."

Kiku's worn mind lacked even the energy to be surprised. This conversation had already run its course within the confines of his own masochistic imagination more times than he could remember. "I see," was all he said.

"It-" Arthur's voice cut out, "-awful. His face-…-like it had been caved in with a rifle butt and there was-…-I just couldn't believe-"

Kiku closed his eyes. He did not need to hear the rest. "England-san."

The line immediately fell silent. Kiku sat up straight, anxiously twisting the phone cord around his fingers. "It pains me to have to bother you with this same question, but may I inquire again as to why you felt the need to call me?"

Arthur gave a small huff of frustration. "To get you to tell me what actually happened so I can convince these simpletons you're not the monster they say you are," the blonde said indignantly..

"What did he say."

"I-… why does it matter? It wasn't true."

"England-san, I need to know what he said."

The line fell dead. When Arthur finally spoke, his voice was flat and cold. "So... it's true, then."

Kiku's eyes slid shut, and he swallowed heavily, but his words were calm and sure. "And if I were to admit to this?"

"You can't be serious… Kiku, why would you-"

"England-san. Why did you seek an empire?"

"That's what you're calling this?" Arthur spat out, his tone white-hot with sudden anger. "Empire building?"

"I remember the screams from India," Kiku said quietly, "From Hong Kong. From even the China you are now so brazenly trying to protect."

"That was different!" Arthur snapped. "There were issues of trade and-"

"And what, England-san?" Kiku felt old and weary, the years of history and countless commands weighing heavily on his shoulders. "You so readily possessed the Americas, India, Australia… and yet you begrudge me these small steps towards filling my own house?"

"The era for empires is over, Kiku!" Arthur was practically shouting. "What you're doing now is nothing more than meaningless slaughter! You're being used by that heathen King of yours!"

Kiku's eyes flickered over to his sword – freshly cleaned, freshly sharpened. "I follow my orders to the letter," he said proudly, "As an emissary of god."

"'God'… what are you on about?" Arthur sounded like he was almost ready to laugh. "I know you, Kiku. You're too smart to believe that bloody propaganda bullshit-"

"Please watch what you say," Kiku's snapped coldly. "Such transgressions should not be spoken lightly."

Kiku heard Arthur take a deep, shuddering breath, and when he spoke again, the once confident man sounded as through he were about to break. "Kiku, I'm begging you. If you ever considered me a… a friend, or anything at all, please, stop this madness. We are the writers and creators of history. You can change all of this, and we can make it as though it never were. Just… just please. Come back to us."

For a fraction of a second, the lonely and desolate sound quelled the soldier's proud voice that echoed inside his mind, and Kiku breathed as a free man. "A-Arthur-san… I…" Kiku shuddered, "I… wish to see you. More than anything, I long for the comforting words of a friend." The Japanese man's eyes slid shut, "But things can never be as they once were, just as I am not the same man you once knew. Every day I change, we change, shaped by our actions and the actions of our people. This power that we have to make do with the era as we wish… this power is undeniable. And yet…" The Japanese man cradled the phone against his ear, pressing himself as close as he could to that revoked promise of forgiveness. "And yet… I wish we were just men, Arthur-san, rather than these formless beings that we are - nothing more than ideas and theories bandied about by those that name us. Bound to be whatever they would have us be."

"Kiku…"

The sound of his true name, spoken with such a longing voice from enemy lips brought back the soldier with an intensity that made Kiku's vision grew white-hot with bloodlust. The man in him was buried underneath the overwhelming sense of righteousness. Of absolutism. Emotions were cut down once more as products of a weak mind. A mind unfit to rule as it should. The Japanese man straightened his back, voice crisp and methodical once more.

"Are you aware of the meaning of that name, England-san?"

Arthur sounded hesitant at the abrupt change in Kiku's voice. "I… You told me once. It's a flower. A chrysanthemum."

"Yes. A flower that blooms only for the Imperial family." Kiku rose to his feet, lifting up his newest orders to gaze at the Imperial seal. "For no one else."

There was silence.

"That's your answer then." The British man's quiet tenor was cold and distant, any trace of gentle longing ripped away. "So be it. Consider yourself an enemy of the United Kingdom and all her powers."

"Duly noted," Kiku said stonily. "I bid you good day, England."

"I pray you live to regret this moment of callous stupidity," Arthur spat out. There was a loud crashing noise from the other end of the line before it went dead.

Kiku listened to the dull hiss of static for a moment before gently setting the receiver back in its cradle. He sunk down in the chair, his orders still clutched tightly in his hand.

He longed to be free.

******

The thinning boughs overhead were dappled with the glow of twilight, casting the forest floor into pools of warm orange light and black shadow. The woods were still, a lonely night hawk's cry the only sound that broke the silence.

Kiku started at the solemn sound, still panting as he clutched at his bleeding side. Wearily he pushed himself up from where he had been leaning against an old pine tree, gingerly placing weight on his already swelling ankle. His sword was painful against his back, heavy upon bruised and battered shoulders.

He could feel himself weakening. Not just from his physical injuries that left a damp trail of blood red on the forest floor, but from something more primeval. Something that was tearing away at him the longer the war dragged on. His strength drained day by day as he struggled against the nagging realization that he was fighting a fruitless and losing battle.

A rustling sound snapped Kiku out of his revelry and he halted in his tracks, pricking his ears to try and locate the source of the noise. The trees were still, their leaves glowing blood red in the light of the setting sun. The noise did not come again. Kiku let out a breath he hadn't even been aware of holding, shuddering slightly as his ribs protested at the movement. He picked up the pace, leaning against the occasional tree for support as he hurried back to base camp to make his report. He reached a lone oak tree, and rested his hand against the craggy bark to steady himself.

All of a sudden there came a flurry of movement from his left, and before Kiku had time to react, he found himself up against the tree, a heavy arm pressing itself into his throat. He struggled to raise his eyes to look his attacker in the face.

Alfred stared down at him, his face a livid mask. His pale skin was streaked with blood and grime, his uniform torn in a thousand places, hanging loosely from his sturdy frame. Dark circles rimmed his ice blue eyes as he smiled with bitter satisfaction.

"Hello, Japan."

Kiku opened his mouth to speak but Alfred leaned in further, crushing the Japanese man's windpipe with his forearm. "Sorry 'bout this," the American looked anything but apologetic, "But I'm not really in the mood to listen to anythin' you've got to say right at the moment."

For a moment, Alfred looked like a boy again, like he had been in the pictures Arthur had once reluctantly showed Kiku, the blonde's face made wide-eyed and innocent from the still festering wounds of betrayal. But then the hurting child was gone, and Alfred's lips curled upwards in a caustic and domineering grin.

Kiku clutched desperately at the blonde's arm as his vision began to grow spotty, his lungs crying in panic out for oxygen. Alfred's smug expression faltered as Kiku looked up at him in terror, and the American eased up slightly, shifting his weight away from the smaller man.

Kiku took the opening. He rammed his knee into the American's stomach as hard as he could, making Alfred stumble backwards with a muffled cry of surprise. In a flash, Kiku lashed out with his good leg, slamming his foot into the other man's knee. The American collapsed, landing heavily on the soft loamy earth. Kiku reached behind him and unsheathed his sword, leaning down over Alfred's chest to press the sharp blade against the blonde's quivering throat. "I have been fighting since before you were even the beginnings of an ideal," Kiku said softly, "You treat me too lightly, America-san."

Alfred swallowed, a thin red line blossoming across his neck where the razor sharp edge of the sword dug into his skin. "As if I could make that mistake after what you did to my people. After what you did to me!" he yelled, wincing when the sword bit deeper into his neck

Kiku stared at Alfred's throat, eyes following a paper-thin trail of blood that trickled down the younger man's neck to pool against his collar bone. The blonde looked otherworldly in the twilight, his eyes bright and clear as he glared up at the other man in frustrated anger.

"I have never seen one of us die," Kiku said quietly, gently increasing the pressure on the sword. "I do not know what will happen after I cut you down."

Alfred grinned bitterly, "Let's not wait to find out." The American suddenly flung a handful of dirt in Kiku's face, and the Japanese man reeled back, one hand instinctively flying up to cover his eyes. Alfred grabbed the smaller man's wrist and flung him aside. Kiku lost his grip on the blood-stained sword, and it fell, striking a rock with a loud clang. He collapsed on the ground, frantically scrubbing his eyes to clear the silt from them, mentally berating himself for falling prey to the same mistake the American made. Mercy could cost him everything. Kiku remained motionless, his vision still compromised as he tried in vain to pinpoint the American's location.

Then suddenly from behind him came the resolute click of a revolver's hammer.

"On your feet."

Kiku stayed still, blinking the last of the grit from his eyes.

America snarled. "I said get the fuck up, Japan! Face me like a man for once!"

Kiku slowly rose to his feet and turned to face Alfred. He stared impassively down the barrel of the gun. "A forty-five caliber?" Kiku inquired calmly. "A bit of an overkill, perhaps?"

Alfred's finger curled around the trigger. "My boss has a sayin'," he bit out, "'Speak softly and carry a big stick.' And while I sure as hell don't believe in that first part, I always make sure to follow the last bit to the letter."

Kiku managed to dredge up a poor imitation of his usual serene smile. "How very like you, America-san. To follow only in spirit the nature of your orders."

"What can I say." Alfred's hand was steady as he took aim. "I'm incorrigible."

Kiku closed his eyes against the sight of the other man's face, so bright and alive in the glow of the dying sun. This was an honorable death, at the hands of an honorable man. He would gladly accept this.

The woods remained silent.

Kiku slowly opened his eyes. The revolver was still aimed steadily at him, the barrel not wavering an inch. Alfred's eyes remained fixed straight ahead, but they were no longer blank and cold. The blonde stared at Kiku, slowly shifting his gaze to meet the older man's obsidian eyes. Alfred smiled bitterly.

"I can't."

The American lowered his gun, flipping the safety on before shoving it in its holster. He leaned back to rest against a tree, sinking slowly to the ground. "I just can't."

Kiku suddenly collapsed to his knees, an unexpected flood of relief knocking him over. Distantly, he heard the American stand and walk to where he was crouched pathetically on the forest floor. Alfred sighed, scuffing his boot wearily in the loose soil.

"Arthur still talks about savin' you."

Kiku dredged up all the pride he could muster and sat up to face the younger man. He forced himself to meet Alfred's gaze. "I do not believe I need saving from anything," he said coldly.

"I'm with you on that one," Alfred said, rising to his feet. "The rest of 'em don't think you're worth savin' neither. But Arthur…" The blonde sighed, muttering softly, "Arthur… just won't give you up. And I hate him for it."

"Ah…" The realization hit Kiku with enough force to knock all other thought from him. He laughed quietly to himself, hunching over to hide his face from the other man. He took a breath.

"I see you call him Arthur now," Kiku whispered softly into the still earth. "Much has changed these past twenty years."

"Why's it matter to you what I call him? Arthur's England, England's Arthur, they mean the same damn thing," Alfred said irritably.

"We both know that is not true, Alfred-san," said Kiku softly, lifting his head to listlessly cast his eyes around for his sword. He spotted it lying a few meters away behind the other man, and he wordlessly stood up, moving to retrieve the discarded weapon. He checked the edge for nicks and scratches as he heard the American walk up behind him.

"Ki- Japan, what're you doin'?"

"I have been captured by the enemy," Kiku said methodically. "I am bound to certain obligations."

Alfred snorted, "Yeah, you're all about obligations, aren't you."

Kiku whirled around and pointed the blade straight at the other man's throat. "Let us see how much I am willing to lose for these bonds," he said calmly, tightening his grip on the sword.

Faster than the eye could follow, Alfred had his gun trained on the older man, the hammer cocked back, finger resting on the trigger. "Easy there, sport," he drawled, blue eyes narrowing. "Think you can skewer me faster than this lead'll reach you?"

"Then what do you suggest we do?" Kiku was already exhausted, his arm shaking slightly under the weight of the weapon. "I cannot leave an enemy unscathed."

"Yeah, think you already took care of that," Alfred muttered, reaching up with his free hand to cautiously run a thumb over the thin wound on his neck.

Kiku's injured leg felt like it was going to give out at any moment. His mind was becoming sluggish, blood loss and shock mixing together to make him bereft of words and thoughts. He could do nothing but look up at the man he was supposed to despise. The man they had forced him to hate. To loath.

The one man he could never.

Suddenly, Alfred lowered his weapon, jerking his head over his shoulder.

Kiku didn't move, his eyes narrowing. "I am unfamiliar with that gesture, America-san."

Alfred sighed, crossing his arms over his chest. "It means I'm lettin' you go."

Kiku let his sword fall to his side, trying his best to look angry when all he could feel was dull and lifeless. "That is a generous offer, considering you hold the upper hand. But I do not see how you can expect me to trust you."

Alfred laughed mirthlessly, "Because, Japan. In a few more days, it won't matter how far you run." The blonde took off his glasses and rubbed his bloodshot eyes with the back of one grimy hand. "No…" he said softly, "No, it won't matter anymore."

Suddenly, Alfred looked up at Kiku with naked ice-blue eyes, haunted beyond his years. "Ki- Japan…" he said tiredly, "Just… take care of yourself. For him, if nothin' else." Without a word, Alfred slipped his glasses back on, and turned to walk back in the direction he had come from, calling out loudly, "Charlie Victor Niner this is Al, you read me? We're all clear over here!"

The American's loud voice faded as he jogged away, pushing aside the cloying vegetation as he left. Kiku watched the other man fade into a patch of darkness before he turned as well and started making his way as fast as he could towards his own camp.

He wanted so badly to flee. To bury himself once again in his mission and make himself forget what he had been forced to realize.

Kiku cursed softly as a branch whipped against him, and his eyes watered from the sting. He angrily ran his hand across his face, sheathing his sword once more on his back as he started forwards, cutting a path through the woods.

He knew it now. Even though it should have been so clear, so obvious from where this unwelcome path was leading him. And yet it had still taken a single name to make him realize it.

He knew.

He knew that he was no longer theirs.

******

End Notes:

FINALLY. This took way longer than anticipated. Thank you for being so patient as I slogged my way through this disaster.

Just one chapter left…


	4. Part Four: For Winter

-Author's Notes-

This is the last chapter, everyone. If you're reading this, then thank you so much for sticking with this piece of crap even through the woefully long hiatus.

It was rather hard to write this last bit to be honest. And be prepared for some heavy handed angst and despair. For those of you who are curious, the title of this fic as well as for all the chapters comes from Sei Shonagon's _The Pillow Book_. The woman had a way with words that just floors me every time. And the bit Kiku quotes in this is from _The Tale of the Heike_. I used McCollough's translation for the most part.

And for the record, this work _was _mildly inspired by the AMV entitled 'Lion'. I've done a bit of work for the lady who subbed it, SplatteredMinds. She's a cool chick. This fic was actually written mostly because of her. But if you haven't seen the video, you are missing out. Go watch it. It tells a much better story, in a far more elegant way.

Thanks as always for reading.

May the Force be with you.

----------

Comfort Words

_Part 4: For Winter_

_-For Winter, it is the Early Morning_

Kiku stood on the back porch, relishing the feeling of crisp winter wind tugging at his hair. The trees in the garden were covered in a glass thin plate of frost, blades of grass frozen into razors of green. From the south came the tolling of a temple bell, the dull noise echoing against sturdy plaster walls.

Kiku drew his cloak against the chill, his cheeks flushed, eyes bright and alive in the pale morning light. He heard the sound of footsteps, and closed his eyes, smiling.

"I did not think you would be here, of all places."

The footsteps stopped just behind him, and Kiku could feel warmth radiating from the other, making him shiver slightly.

"You're cold."

A warm arm wrapped itself around Kiku's shoulders, and he leaned into the embrace.

"The cold does not bother me."

They remained still for a moment before Kiku pulled away.

"There is something I need to tell you."

The other voice sighed, deep and fond. "It can wait."

Kiku frowned. "No…" he said softly, "Somehow, I do not think it can…"

He ignored the burning pain from his feet on the snow, and walked forward until his toes were curled against the edge of the veranda. The other followed him wordlessly, matching him stride for stride. Kiku stared into the pale white light of early morning.

"What could I have done?" Kiku's small voice was swallowed by the blanket of winter as he spoke. "Was there ever a point where if I had simply let myself wander left instead of right I would not be standing here with you in this forgotten place?"

The voice chuckled softly. "A question we often ask, but can never bear to hear the answer."

"I would listen."

"Of course you would." He sounded amused. "But that's because you've already figured it out for yourself."

The bell sounded its distant drone. Kiku's chest grew tight as he recited listlessly, "'The sound of the Gion bells echoes the impermanence of all things… the color of sala flowers reveals the truth that the prosperous must decline… the proud do not endure. The mighty fall at last, as dust before the wind.' It is in this that I find both comfort and despair." He absently studied his hands as he asked quietly, "Is this my answer?"

The familiar figure shrugged. "How should I know? But it's pretty, I suppose. More of your poetry?"

"No…" Kiku focused on the warmth against his skin, blocking his eyes against the fading garden. "Merely some old words a long forgotten friend never bothered to write down."

The wind grew stronger, buffeting the ice laden tree branches into one another, sending white sparks of crystallized snow ricocheting into the air. Kiku shivered, and the arm pulled him reassuringly closer.

"You should wake up now."

Kiku shook his head, burying his face in his hands as the comforting arm grew painfully tight around him. "Please…" he whispered, voice catching on the simple word. "Please do not make me…"

Sound dropped away like a record wrenched from its table. There was a vivid flash of blonde hair before the dream was snuffed out, and darkness reclaimed his senses.

***

Kiku opened his eyes to a painful reality and an uncaring ceiling. He quickly rolled to his side, hugging his knees to his chest as cough after cough racked his weary body. The attack subsided, and Kiku shakily wiped away black ash from around his mouth. He reached for the cup of water he kept by his bedside and drank eagerly, forcing himself to swallow against the burning pain that lanced his throat.

He collapsed back on the bed, and took another shaky breath. He was getting better. He could feel it every day, his body healing itself as his people rebuilt. But it still wasn't enough. Kiku cautiously sat up, shrugging out of the heavy bedclothes that kept him pinned to the floor. He examined himself, still having to bite back the initial visceral reaction at what he saw.

Black. So much of it. So many spots marring his pale skin as they ate away at him from the inside. Festering wounds that made it hard to breathe. To eat. To sleep. Kiku often wondered, in the grips of many a feverish and lonely night, how his people were coping. He felt detached from them completely for the first time since before he could remember, and longed fitfully for the reassuring hum of distant voices. He supposed it was some sort of self defense to keep him from going stark raving mad from the tidal wave of pain and shock that was coursing through the veins of his people in their hour of defeat.

But it had been months now. He was out of the hospital, at least. Not that it made much difference when really all the most brilliant doctors and nurses could do was offer him a drink of water when he begged for it. He didn't heal like they did, and so they assumed he didn't need the same sorts of comforts either. The nurses brought him flowers though, sent from some poor patronizing soul who had most likely balked at the idea of seeing him in such a state and so had chosen to give the gift of impersonal disdain and polite sympathy from afar.

He'd refused visitors, at any rate.

Kiku felt the light vibrations of the floor beneath his head as one of the hired help made their way down the outside corridor. The feet stopped in front of his door, and the thin paper screen opened with a quiet scrape and clatter of doors too old for their tracks.

"Honda-san. There are… people here to see you."

The effeminate voice hitched at the word people. Kiku knew what that meant. He rolled to his side, staring listlessly out into his garden, where an ugly and damp winter had robbed the trees of their ephemeral beauty.

"Send them away."

He heard the girl shuffle nervously, the tired and ancient floorboards creaking under her weight. "But… sir, they-"

"Hey, Kiku."

A soft, strong voice interrupted the girl, and she gave a hiss of protest. "Sir! I must ask that you respect my master's wishes and remain-"

"We're comin' in."

The man moved into the room as though he hadn't even registered the girl's presence, bold and haughty without conscious thought. Kiku heard another voice – a light tenor – apologize quietly before slipping inside as well. The door shut disapprovingly behind them.

Kiku drew the blankets around him, watching a sparrow hop across the sodden veranda. The melting snow falsely promised spring. Until then, he would wait.

"Please leave."

He hadn't meant to say it.

There was a rustle by his bedside, and the low rumblings of a baritone.

"We're not leavin'. Not until-"

"Until what?" Kiku tried to be angry. Tried so hard to put the same bite of steel into his voice he used to command. "Until you have satisfied your sick curiosity?"

"Jap-…Kiku, please, we're only here to-"

Kiku sat bolt upright, letting the covers pool around his waist as he turned to fix the other two nations with a cool stare. England and America gazed back at him, their shoulders so close they were almost touching. England looked pained, his hands twisting weakly over themselves in his lap as though desperate for something to hold on to. America's stare was firm, absolute, his mouth drawn in a stern expression that made him look a thousand years old.

Kiku suddenly hated seeing them together. Hated the perfect picture they made. The way their blonde hair, honey and sand, glowed a twin gold in the soft light from the hearth. The way America's hand reached out to rest on England's, calming the older man with a quick brush of a thumb across a too thin wrist. The way England leaned into the touch, offering reassurance, comfort, before slowly pulling away.

Forcing himself to swallow the bitter taste of pride, Kiku yanked down the neck of his kimono, biting out, "There. Now you can see how you so easily vanquished me. How you desecrated my god and shattered my people to their foundations. Once your curiosity is slated, I would ask that you kindly leave me in peace."

England immediately turned away, covering his face with one rough hand as the corners of his mouth trembled slightly. The British man swallowed visibly, and pressed his free hand to the floor, thin and ragged nails scraping against the woven surface.

America stared openly, his face betraying nothing. Cerulean eyes flickered sharp and cunning behind thin wire glasses, resting briefly on every symptom etched out in clear relief on Kiku's pale skin before moving on. Mapping them. Cataloging them for future reference.

Kiku shook slightly under the critical gaze, but steeled his jaw, forcing his eyes to look straight ahead. Suddenly America blinked, frowning, and gave a curt nod. Kiku repositioned his robes, hiding his quivering hands inside billowing sleeves. He felt another attack coming, and he forced it down, spitting out through clenched teeth, "I would like you to go now."

America studied him again, the pale boyish face flickering with doubt for a moment before he nodded and rose to his feet. He held out a hand for the other blonde nation still seated on the floor, but England shook his head.

"Alfred…please…"

His voice was like a begging child's.

America squared his shoulders, and said brusquely, "Japan has asked us to leave. I think we should-"

"Bugger what you think!" England snapped, rising to his feet in a clumsy tumble of awkward limbs. He grabbed the taller nation by the arms, holding on to him fiercely. It was a gesture not born from unsteadiness, but from support, and Kiku found himself unable to look away from where the rough hands clung to the other's arms. His stomach twisted in a way that reminded him of his earlier days in the hospital, where everything they attempted to force down his throat only resulted in another hour of wrenching pain. He wanted to throw up.

And England was still pressing into America, dragging the other man's eyes down to meet his with the strength of his gaze alone. "Alfred, please…" The British man was unwavering, his knuckles white against the dark sleeve of an army uniform. "A half an hour, that's all I need."

Kiku felt like a voyeur peering in on a play he had only managed to catch halfway through, the plot of which was entirely foreign to him. The other two nations looked and touched and spoke in a language composed of clandestine gestures and slight pulls at the corners of mouths and eyes. A language Kiku knew he could never hope to understand. That it would be futile to even begin to try.

Suddenly, America's entire countenance changed. He seemed to fold in on himself, and when he straightened, the rigid soldier was gone. His shoulders slumped, his hands rested firmly on England's wrists as he said softly, "It's alright, Arthur. I just… I can't…" America shot Kiku a desperate glance over England's shoulder. Kiku managed to dredge up enough empathy to notice that the lines on the younger man's face were drawn deep, like marks cut into the sand on a beach the waves had not yet reclaimed.

The American seemed on the verge of speech, eyes darting back and forth behind thick lenses as he just looked at Kiku. Not in the clinical and detached way he had been before, but with the pained and mournful eyes of a civilian. America forcibly wrenched his gaze away. He touched the small of England's back with a delicate brush of fingers before stepping back and walking to the door. It slid open with the usual jittering of the track, and America paused, turning halfway around so his back wasn't to Kiku.

"I-… We didn't know," he said stiffly. "I'd like to say I'm sorry – hell, I'd like to say a hell of a lot of things. But-… I can't. Not… not now." America toyed with the frayed end of a sleeve, biting down on his lower lip. He finally moved to meet Kiku's eyes, the Japanese man remaining motionless, propped up underneath the heavy piles of bedclothes.

"I promise, Kiku. Never again."

America's voice was warmth, and steel and reassuring, and in that moment, Kiku remembered that voice, and believed him. Alfred gave a tired ghost of a smile before moving into the hallway, shutting the door quietly behind him.

Kiku stared at the paper and wooden frame, trying to will himself to face the other nation left in the room. Before he could do so, England spoke.

"I'm glad you're out of hospital now."

Kiku said nothing. He heard England swallow.

"Did you… did you get the flowers we sent?"

Kiku's dark eyes flickered over to where England was seated on the floor. The British man was staring down at the woven mats, his thick eyebrows knitted above troubled eyes.

"…I did," Kiku said simply. "Although I was unable to enjoy them for long."

England finally looked up, the movement more a reflex than anything. "What d'you mean?" he frowned. "We-… I sent them only a few days ago..."

Kiku wordlessly nodded towards the vase hidden in a corner of the room. England just looked at him in puzzlement, but when the shorter man offered no other explanation, England rose to his feet and made his way over to retrieve the object. Kiku heard him make a muffled gasp of surprise, and he closed his eyes against the noise.

"Kiku…what in God's name…" England's voice was broken with confusion, and Kiku just sighed.

"A testament to what your… friend… did to me." He stared down at the black marks that edged their way up his skin like pretty little drawings. "Whenever something draws close to me… you hold the results in your hand. The effects will fade with time. Or so I have been told."

England slowly walked back, cradling the vase in his hands. Two blackened and withered stems jutted out of the mouth – the rest had crumbled to ash at the bottom. The British man sat down, and reached out to hesitantly touch one of the plants. It disintegrated in an instant under his thumb. He looked up at Kiku, his green eyes murderous.

"I'm going to kill him," England said slowly. "This is madness. To have done something like this to a former friend…"

The word 'former' dug its way into Kiku's chest like a hateful little insect, burrowing to fester. He clenched his hands in the bedclothes. "He is not the only one of my friends to have adopted that stance, as I recall," he said haltingly, resentment tarnishing his words.

England's eyes narrowed into thin slits as he set the vase down. "True enough. I was the first to call you friend," the British man said, his voice terse and controlled. "But I never thought that those words would come to mean so little to you. You knew full well what you were doing when you chose to speak your allegiance. When you made it clear how much you thought of our pact. Of our friendship."

Kiku glanced up at England through clumps of faded hair that were far too transparent. "But what you desired was not merely friendship. Was it, Arthur?"

England remained silent.

Kiku straightened as much as he could, the words tumbling from his mouth unbidden as he snapped. "Do not address me as though I am simply a man, _England._ As though I am anything less than what I am. Than what _we_ are." Kiku steeled himself, wincing slightly at the pain lancing through his chest. "We can never hope to be so free. To live a life vested of pacts and agreements that exist only as a surface link to be severed at the convenience of one far less experienced than we are. To be broken with great deliberation for little gain and much loss."

He laughed quietly, a soft and bitter sound. "There is always something else greater at stake. Always something that usurps our emotions. Something we cannot help but give in to time and time again."

England ground his teeth and spat out, "I envy your ability to transcend what you think are just flimsy excuses for humanity. These things that… that could have made you _feel_ something for once in your life! Just… damn it, Kiku! You're not just a mindless slave! Not anymore!"

"I feel, England-san," Kiku said tiredly, all the energy leaving his body in a mass exodus, leaving him a hollow shell. "Far too much, I'm afraid." He slumped back down against the bedclothes, his chest rising and falling weakly as he struggled for breath.

England started to move towards the older man, but stopped, his hand still outstretched. Slowly, he sat back on his heels. His face was pinched in misery, and after a moment he said quietly, "We can't go back, can we. To before this mattered."

Kiku gave a raspy sigh. "To go back is to lose progress. To lose what we have gained. They would not allow it."

"But we haven't gained anything, Kiku!" England yelled in a sudden storm of violence, slamming his fist into the floor. "All we've done is lose, lose, lose! Our people, our cities- each other for God's sake! I haven't gained one fucking thing!"

Kiku remained quiet during England's outburst before saying softly, "I can think of one thing you have now that you lacked before, England-san – try as you may to hide it."

England faltered, his breathing hitching in his throat as he said weakly, "I… I don't know what…"

"A common adversary begets friendship." Kiku rolled on his side to stare at the thin screens that now shielded the garden from his view. "I am glad I was able to fulfill this role for you two." He tried to keep the bitterness from his voice, but he still heard England let out a quiet hiss of breath.

"Kiku…" the British man fumbled for words, "We didn't… I mean…"

Kiku curled in on himself, feeling the aches from his cities spasm through him. Distantly, he heard England ask if he was alright, and felt a cool hand flutter to rest on his fevered shoulder. He wanted to scream. To lash out and take from them what they had stolen. To bury himself in what he was and never again have anything to do with the rest of the world. With the hypocrites that burned him. With the allies that he'd used. With the tall man who held a pipe so jauntily in his teeth as he stood next to his god and told the entire world what a laughingstock he was. What a backwards brute.

But he held his tongue, and was tired of fighting. All that escaped past his lips was a quiet reply.

"Yes, Arthur-san. I am fine."

He felt the floor squeak as England reeled backwards slightly at the sound of his name. When the British man next spoke, he sounded almost relieved. "Al and I… we're worried about you, Kiku. Well everyone is, of course, but-…" Kiku heard him pause, and could almost see the thoughts in the Englishman's head being sorted out into safe and unsafe piles. Things that would or would not jar him. He almost smiled at the notion.

"We want you well," England finished lamely, and Kiku heard him let out a shaky breath. "We need you to be well again."

Kiku shifted again so that he was looking up into England's watchful eyes. He gave a tired smile, which was what England wanted. "As do I. It would seem my part to play is not yet over."

England smiled back, the expression pulling on the corners of his mouth and making him look young again. "No. You're not getting rid of us that easily."

Kiku tried to laugh, but the noise died in the air. There came a polite knocking from the door, and a moment later America stuck his head in.

"We need to get going, Arthur," he said softly. "We'll miss our plane."

England didn't make a move other than to reply, "Just a few more minutes."

America sighed, but then flashed a grin in Kiku's direction. "Let me know if he starts buggin' you, alright? I'll come and drag his sorry ass out of here so you can have a bit of peace." The light banter felt forced, but Kiku pretended to smile anyway, and America seemed happy as he shut the door and that was all that mattered.

Kiku turned again to look at England, and started slightly when the British man reached out to grab his hand. He gave a slight gasp of alarm and tried to pull away, but England held on tightly, pressing the pale and thin hand to his forehead as he hunched over, his hair covering his eyes.

Kiku watched with detached fascination as two dark splotches appeared on the ragged woven mat, and felt England's hands tremble around his. He propped himself up as best he could, and hesitantly reached out to pull the younger man towards him.

Arthur let himself be drawn close, wordlessly falling into the fragile embrace, hesitating just enough so that Kiku would not have to bear the full of his weight. Kiku buried his face in the crook of Arthur's neck, and breathed in the smell of tea that seemed to always linger about the other man. Tea, and the scent of soot and rain from London. Grass from the Cotswolds. Salt from the sea. He felt Arthur start to shake, and ignored the pain still pulsing under his skin as he pulled the younger man to lay against his shaking chest.

He owed him this much, at least.

Minutes passed, and Kiku spoke.

"You must not tell him."

Arthur gave a shaky breath, but otherwise remained silent.

Kiku felt his chest ache, and swallowed the questions he knew he could not bear to hear the answers to. "If ever we were friends, you must promise me you will try and be content with how things are."

He smiled sadly, and hesitantly stroked the younger man's sand colored hair, the soft strands catching slightly on the scars etched into his hands.

"Do not become mired in the past as I am, my friend," he said softly, letting his hands fall to his sides. "It is no way to live."

Arthur grew still and then gave a slow nod. The British man pulled away, rubbing a tired hand across his face.

"…Sorry about that, Kiku," he said ruefully, turning slightly to hide his face. "I just… had to be selfish for a minute." He looked up in sudden panic. "What was I thinking. I didn't hurt you, did I?"

Kiku shook his head, lying back down on the hard futon. "No," he said tiredly. "I am fine, as always."

Arthur opened his mouth to say something when the door clattered open and Alfred poked his head inside again. Kiku turned his head and saw the American falter for a minute before saying cautiously, "I… Is everythin'-"

"We're fine, Alfred." Arthur rose to his feet, turning away from Kiku with the sudden grace of an aristocrat. "Just wrapping up some unattended business."

Alfred's eyes narrowed but he said nothing. He walked into the dimly lit room and sat by Kiku's side, awkwardly reaching out to rest his hand on the older man's shoulder. "I…" the American licked his lips and looked up at Arthur for encouragement. But the British man said nothing, seemingly lost in thought as he stared at something only he could see. Alfred turned back to Kiku, a rather sad smile on his face.

"Take care of yourself, Kiku," he finally said, his mouth curling up in a self-deprecating grimace. "We'll be back again soon. Next time maybe I won't bring Captain Gloom along and then we can have a proper visit. Like old times."

Kiku fought the urge to retch. He ignored the fleeting look of pain on Arthur's face and the way Alfred's hand refused to touch his skin.

"Perhaps that could be arranged," he said as neutrally as he could, and smiled shyly like he was supposed to.

America grinned back and Arthur cleared his throat.

"The plane, Alfred."

America hastily withdrew his hand, beaming down at Kiku one last time. He stood and made his way over to where England stood by the door.

"Things will be back to normal again soon, Kiku. Just hang in there a little longer."

The Japanese man turned away, not even sure which one of them had spoken. Their voices sounded the same to him now.

He wished he could see into his garden.

"Yes."

He drew the blankets to cover his shaking and disfigured arms.

"As they should be."

The door clattered shut, and the sound of footsteps faded until all he could feel were soft and steady vibrations. Then, silence. Then nothing.

He was alone again.

Kiku closed his eyes.

He dreamed of snow in the garden. Cherry trees and festivals. The ringing of a phone and the cool shade of a forest.

Of a wordless and comforting blonde figure who looked like no one at all.

Of black birds at sunset.

Bells echoing impermanence.

He closed his eyes to the world.

He dreamed of snow.

------

The End.


End file.
